Atlesian Nights
A White-Rose Fiction
By Erheig
Chapter 1:
Royal Pains
Princess Weiss Schnee looked at the suitor before her. Her father sat in his throne impassively. Sir Jaun of house Arc, a little lesser lordling from the kingdom of Vale, had just attempted to serenade her, crooning his skinny, blonde heart out before the whole of the Atlesian King's Court, his final note still ringing through the hall. Needless to say, this was less than effective. Winter, the sizable White Tiger at Weiss's side stared blankly at the young knight. The Princess decided to finally break the deafening silence of the Grand Hall.
"Well, Sir Jean, that performance was certainly… one I shall always remember," she remarked eloquently.
Whether I like it or not, she internalized bitterly.
"However, I am afraid I shall have to deny your request for courtship… again."
The dejected lordling bowed to Weiss and her father before leaving in silence for the thirteenth time. The lords and ladies of the King's Court soon followed suit, leaving the princess alone with a vicious animal… and the tiger. King Jacques Schnee of house Schnee, first of his name, Marquis of Ashrow, Ruler of the land and peoples of Atlas, Chief Executive of the Royal Dust Fellowship glared at the stubborn girl before him.
"Weiss, my darling, my only daughter," he began, "have we not had this conversation time and time and time again?
"We have."
"You are the heir to the throne of Atlas, the most powerful country in all of Remnant! And someday you too shall need an heir! And to produce a true heir you must… ?
"…"
"Weiss…"
The Princess couldn't meet her father's gaze.
"…marry a man and have children," she replied hesitantly. "Whether I want to or not."
"Precisely, my daughter, precisely. So, in order to preserve this dynasty you will be wed to some gentleman, preferably of noble blood, within the next year. In one month, you will meet with Prince Neptune of Vacuo. Think about it. The clock is ticking."
As her father left the room Weiss took a seat on the steps before her his throne, with Winter curling up beside her. And once more the Princess of Atlas felt isolated from her people, from her father, from herself. As she sat she pondered how her father could consider her role so important while she felt so… useless? Insignificant? She found it difficult to quantify her own feelings in the face of something so depressingly monumental. In one year she would be a bride of 19, trapped in a marriage doomed to be as cold and empty as the tundras she would rule over.